


Formidable

by Rev (Ballyhoo)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Blood, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Makes more sense if you've read the 2015 manga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 07:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10692696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballyhoo/pseuds/Rev
Summary: 1927. Keith returns to the Gandors' headquarters, and Luck is relieved right up until he remembers that there was blood on Keith's jacket when they found it crumpled in an alleyway.(An extension of the reunion scene in chapter four of Fujimoto's 2015 manga adaptation.)





	Formidable

“…If Firo hadn’t found the priest first and kept him busy, Keith would’ve had a tougher time moving on his own.” Claire spread his arms wide, his eyes bright with supreme nonchalance that sharply contrasted with the uncomfortable roil of Luck’s stomach at the news.

“Say what!?” Luck exclaimed, as Berga curled his hand into a fist beside him. “Firo did? …Is _he_ okay?”

Claire gave him a blinding grin. “He’s fine. Firo’s a popular guy.”

“…You say that, but I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me,” muttered Luck, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Wait. A priest?”

_Keith’s bloody jacket…and a smashed lollipop._

_Candy for good children…steel stakes for bad._

“Claire, don’t tell me this ‘priest’ really _was_ the—”

“The Phantom Father?” Claire supplied. “Yeah, it was him all right. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but he…kinda got away from me.” He reached out his hand, and put it on Luck’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Luck. Swear on my soul I’ll end him next time.”

Berga grabbed the nearest chair, his face reddening. “You let him get away? That asshole’s still _alive_?” His grip on the chair’s back whitened, and he flung it at his sworn brother with an enraged shout. Luck expected Claire to dodge it easily, but Claire simply stood there and brought his forearms up to protect his face. The chair slammed against his arms and thudded to the floor.

No one moved. Claire’s wrist hid his right eye from view, but his left eye stared unblinkingly at Berga right above the point where his arms crossed. “I _said_ I was sorry, Berga.” Finally, he lowered his hands and bent over to pick up the fallen chair and right it. “All right?”

Luck advanced forward, brushing his shoulder against Berga’s sleeve. “It’s fine, Claire. If he could get away from _you_ then that means he’s clearly abnormal _some_ how. I don’t know if he plans on coming back for Keith, but we’ll increase security around here for the next week or two just in case.”

“I hope he _does_ come back for Keith,” Berga growled, pounding his fist into the palm of his other hand. “‘Cause then I’ll be able to give that so-called Phantom Father a taste of his own medicine! First a stake, and then my fist! I’ll pound him into dust!”

 _Stake…_ “Speaking of which,” Luck murmured, troubled. “Didn’t Keith…”

The image of Keith’s bloody jacket shimmered before him.

“ _Thank heavens you’re all right_ , I said,” Luck breathed, putting his hand to his mouth. He whirled around and made for the door to the brothers’ office. 

“Hey, Luck! What gives?”

Luck didn’t bother to look back at his brother as he moved. “Berga, there was _blood_ on Keith’s jacket, remember?”

“Y-yeah,” Berga replied uneasily, floorboards creaking underneath his shoes as he followed in Luck’s footsteps. “But he was _walking_ okay, wasn’t he? Couldn’t that have been the priest’s blood or sumthin’?”

“No.”

Luck paused at the door, hand hovering over the handle as he turned to look at Claire. Worry darkened his sworn brother’s face. “…No,” Claire repeated, his eyes meeting Luck’s. “I don’t think it could.”

Luck’s heart spasmed painfully at that – he didn’t know what Claire meant by that statement, nor did he bother to remind Berga that there had been a hole in Keith’s jacket too – but if _Claire_ was serious then…

He pushed down on the handle and stepped inside.

Keith sat at his desk, exhaling smoke. On top of his desk and highlighted by the light from his table lamp sat the smashed lollipop and the bloody jacket, exactly where Nicola had left them. The don’s eyes were fixated on the jacket. Luck swallowed. “Keith,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “That’s your blood, isn’t it.”

Keith eyed him, and said nothing.

“Oi, _Keith_ ,” Berga huffed, lumbering over to his older brother’s desk. “This ain’t the time for clamming up! That bastard hurt you, right? Don’t play dumb!”

Keith leaned back in his seat, weariness creasing his brow. “…It’s fine.”

“Like hell!” Berga roared, slamming his hand down onto the desk. “He _did_ get you, didn’t he! Letting yourself get _caught_ is one thing, but letting yourself get _hurt_? I’ll—”

“Keith,” Claire called, ambling over to the desk. His tone was casually cheerful, but his eyes belied a hard reckoning, “You’ve gotten your younger brothers all worked up, haven’t ya? As an apology, why don’t you lift up your shirt and show Luck and Berga that there’s nothing to worry about? I ask as a younger brother myself, and not as a Family affiliate.”

Keith gave him a sharp look, and Luck thought for a moment that his older brother would refuse. The seconds ticked by. Eventually Keith rose, supporting himself with one hand on his desk and the other on the back of his chair. The fact that he was _supporting_ himself at all sent a pang of concern through Luck’s lungs. It was clear that he was favoring his left side, now, though it hadn’t been the case when he’d entered Coraggioso’s basement ten minutes ago.

Luck joined Claire’s side, scanning their older brother up and down. The bloody hole in Keith’s jacket had been located around the lower right back region, and naturally that was where Luck looked first – only, his brother’s vest was black, hiding any potential bloodstains from view.

“Your vest might hide it, but I can see some dried blood on your shirt,” Claire remarked, leaning forward as he spoke. “Don’t think you’ll be able to get it out now. Too bad.”

 _He’s right_ , Luck realized, leaning forward in turn. Peeking out from underneath the hem of Keith's vest were two dried blood trails running down the seams of his shirt. “Shit,” he swore, low and vehement. “C’mon Keith, there’s no sense in hiding it any longer. Show us the damage.”

Keith’s sigh was so quiet that Luck probably would have missed it had he not been concentrating fully on his older brother in the first place, and Keith reluctantly pulled his shirt out from where it’d been tucked into his trousers and adjusted his suspender accordingly. Berga circled around the desk so that he could catch a glimpse of the priest’s handiwork as well.

Or at least, the aftermath of it. Makeshift dressings circled Keith’s torso, partially bloody toward the back. The bandages were far too tight, and nowhere near professionally applied.

“Pretty sloppy, Keith,” Claire said, casting the bandages a critical once-over.

“Didn’t have…much time.” Only four words, yet they undeniably conveyed a hint of exhaustion in their tone. If Luck understood the circumstances correctly, Keith had been busy investigating the priest’s connections to the surrounding mafia while the priest had been preoccupied with Firo. Had he gotten any sleep since he’d originally been ‘kidnapped’?

Claire’s fingers brushed against the top of the dressings, and pulled them downwards.

“What are you doing? Isn’t that a bad idea?’ Berga asked uneasily.

“Eh, they’re gonna have to be redone anyways,” Claire said, and the bandages fell way from Keith’s torso. Keith’s lips thinned as his wound was exposed for the world to see.

Luck sucked in a sharp breath. A puckered hole sat several inches to the right of Keith’s spine, with a smeared halo of blood encircling it and trailing downward into his trousers.

_A few inches to the left, and…_

Trembling fury swept through Luck in an instant, dark and vicious. Distantly, he heard himself ask “how deep?” over the blood pounding in his ears. From somewhere behind him, Berga rattled off profanities and threats one after the other.

“Not deep enough to be serious,” Keith grunted.

“It might scar though,” Claire mused, still bent over with his hands on his knees. He straightened, and cracked his knuckles individually. “And while it may not be that deep…” An unpleasant grin stretched across his face. “…Any wound that my brothers suffer is something that I’m gonna take seriously.”

“That’s right,” Luck echoed, unable to tear his gaze away from the blood. “We won’t forgive that Phantom bastard, priest or no priest. Sorry, Berga, Claire, but if we find him I’m going to take my revenge _very_ personally.”

“As if I’ll let you take him on all by yourself! There ain’t no way I’m not getting in on the action.”

“…Never mind the priest,” Keith muttered, and all eyes turned to him. He eased himself back into his seat, and added, “It’s over.”

Luck and Berga shared an uncomfortable look. “Okay, Keith,” Luck sighed. “We’ll let it drop for today. Doesn’t mean we’re letting you out of our sight though.” 

“You said it,” affirmed Berga. “'We still had two' my _ass_. _”_

Claire sidled around to the back of Luck’s chair. “Actually, Keith, could you lift up your shirt again? I wanna check for burns.”

Keith rarely visibly reacted to other people talking, let alone _emotionally_ reacted, but now he narrowed his gaze and glared back at Claire with something akin to anger.

“Whoops,” Claire shrugged. “How was I supposed to know you didn’t _want_ them to know?” 

“Burns,” Luck said, flatly. “What, exactly, do you mean by _burns_ , Claire? Why don’t you explain it real clearly for the rest of us ignorant chumps.”

Claire raised his hands placatingly. “Look, let’s just say that when I found him he was exiting a church that was, _ehhhhh_  It was going up in flames. A lot of flames. A big roaring fire, if you will. I have to say, Keith, any other guy woulda come out of there with at least some part of them on fire, if you know what I mean.”

“What the _hell_ ,” Berga spluttered. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to form coherent words. “What the _hell_ ,” he repeated, dumbly. 

“Hell? Yeah, pretty much,” agreed Claire, amiably. “I’ve never seen flames go that high, and _I_ used to be in the circus. What a furnace!”

Luck ran a hand through his hair, staring at Keith with worry and anger and relief ( _Oh thank God he didn’t burn to death_ ) warring within him. “I can’t believe you,” he choked, hoping that they couldn’t see how badly his left hand was shaking in his trouser pocket. “You could have _died_.”

Keith’s expression softened marginally. “I didn’t,” he replied. “…I’m still here, Luck.”

 _But you were hurt!_ Luck wanted to shout his thoughts to the sky, wanted to take his brother by the shoulders and shake some damned _sense_ into him, throttle him by the neck until he promised never to be so reckless again. _‘We still had two’_ , _you said. That’s a load of crock – that’s – that – You could’ve died, you idiot!_

“And thank God for that,” he whispered, legs shaking. In a flash, Claire darted around the desk, took one of the chairs in front of it and shoved it behind Luck just as his legs gave way. He collapsed into the chair and clasped his hands between his knees, hanging his head low as he caught his breath. The stress of the past day had caught up with him, and he struggled to compose himself.

There were few people out there whose abilities he trusted more than Keith’s, and yet his brother had gone up against someone who’d apparently been strong enough to get away from _Claire_ of all people. That was beyond concerning. Hell, it was beyond _comprehension_.

A pair of black shoes encroached upon his line of sight, and he looked up to see Claire smiling down at him. “Luck,” he said, kindly, “You do know that Keith wasn’t in any _real_ danger, right?”

“But—but this priest guy, he got away from someone of _your_ calibre—”

“So what if he did?” Claire shrugged, totally insouciant. “This is _Keith_ we’re talking about here. _Keith._ Don’t get me wrong, I was worried too – but have a little more faith in our brother, yeah? He’s one of the most formidable guys I know, and I’m pretty sure just about everything that happened today went according to his plans and his plans alone. Boy, you shoulda seen that church. It was one of Keith’s ultimate showstoppers, I tell ya.”

Keith appeared by Claire’s right side, and silently offered Luck a hand up. Luck took it, a little guilty that _Keith_ was the one offering Luck assistance when it should be the other way around. 

“…I’m sorry I worried you,” Keith said, his eyes abnormally kind, comfortingly so.

Luck let out a wobbly chuckle. “Yeah, you’d better be. Does that mean you promise you aren’t going to pull something like this again?”

“...No.” 

Luck frowned, but he hadn’t expected any other response. “Come on,” he sighed. “Let’s go upstairs and find you a doctor. There’s no getting out of it. And after that, we’re taking you home so’s you can take the rest of the day off.”

Keith hesitated, and then nodded. Luck adjusted his position so that he was on Keith’s right side, and Claire was on Keith’s left. Berga brought up the rear, and the four of them moved as one toward the stairs leading to the ground floor.

For the rest of the day, not one of them left Keith’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> So...in the manga, there's blood on Keith's jacket when the Gandor Family finds it in the alleyway, right? The blood has to be Keith's, since Donatello's an incomplete immortal. 
> 
> Yet when Claire delivers Keith to his brothers later on, Luck says "you're all right! Thank heavens..." and no mention of Keith's supposed injury is ever brought up again. 
> 
> Naturally I felt robbed, and wrote this to console myself. You can't just imply that Keith was hurt and never conclusively acknowledge that hurt, Narita! Jeez.


End file.
